Titles
by Taure
Summary: Pure crack. Harry gains a few unconventional titles.


A.N. Pure crack. Not sure what I was thinking. It was written quickly, so it's a bit rough around the edges. Hopefully it will bring some enjoyment to your day. Expect a new Lords of Magic chapter around Easter.

* * *

**Titles**

It was a normal day when Hermione completed her mystery project.

"It's done!" she said, slumping onto an armchair. Harry was sitting next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, leafing through a book. He looked up in surprise.

"Already?" he asked, "I thought you said it'd be another week?"

"I know, but I had a breakthrough tonight. You want to see it?"

Harry nodded. Hermione had been working on it for almost a month now, but refused to tell anyone what it was.

"Great!" Hermione said, "come on then!"

She grabbed his hand and dragged him away, through the halls of the castle. Eventually they passed into dusty, unused passages.

"It's just through here."

Hermione led him into an abandoned classroom. She'd cleaned it up a bit – there was no dust, and all the furniture had been moved to the walls. Floating in the middle of the room was a tall rectangular object, about the size and shape of a door, but made of black slate.

"Is that it?" asked Harry. He paused. "Er - what is it?"

Hermione smiled. That was good. That meant he wasn't meant to know what it did.

"It's a magical strength detector!"

She looked at Harry expectantly.

"Uh...that's, um, great! But... what is it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, Harry! Slughorn told us about them in the Slug club just a few weeks ago. It's an enchanted item that records how powerful magic is. Here, I'll show you."

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at the detector.

"_Stupefy!_"

A nimbus of red light shot from her wand and hit the slate. For a brief moment the point of impact glowed red, then nothing. Harry looked at Hermione and raised his eyebrow. She blushed.

"It was working just a few-"

She was interrupted by a scraping sound. A number was writing itself out on the slate, as if by invisible chalk.

_75_

"There we go! I got the same number last time, so it's definitely working."

Harry walked forward and looked at the board. He reached out to touch it. It felt just like a normal blackboard. Brushing his fingers across the number, he found that the chalk rubbed off just as easily.

"What does the number mean?" he asked, turning back to Hermione.

"It's a measure of a person's raw magical strength," she answered. "It corresponds to a scale maintained by the Ministry of Magic. Hang on-"

She rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a fat volume.

"- They keep records in here. Let's see..."

She opened the book to a bookmark.

"Here it is! Numbers 70 to 80 correspond to the rank of Warlock. And look, it even has a note on Dumbledore! 'The highest strength in recorded history was Albus Dumbledore, who has a raw magical strength of 89. This led to the creation of a new rank: Supreme Mugwump'. So, Harry, want a go?"

Harry grinned. "Do I just hit it with a spell?"

"The stunning charm is best, I think," Hermione replied. "If you used a blasting curse, it might break it."

"Alright." Harry walked a few paces away from the detector and took aim. "Ready?"

Hermione nodded.

"_Stupefy!_" Harry cried. As before, a his stunning charm was absorbed by the slate.

They waited in silence. Hermione expected he would beat her. Harry wasn't sure, but felt that he would do well. Eventually -

_95_

Harry blinked. Hermione stared.

"Oh my god, Harry! That's higher than Dumbledore!"

Harry nodded, mute.

"I don't think the scale even goes that high! Look!"

She thrust the book in to his hands. There, at the bottom of the page, was Dumbledore's name, sitting next to the number 89. There were no numbers after him. A note read:

_In the event of a new highest score being recorded, The Ministry will automatically be aware, and the head of the Department of Magical Tracking will assign a title. This volume is self-updating, and will record the title._

"So we have to wait for a Ministry guy to come up with something?" asked Harry.

"I guess..." Hermione replied, still slightly dazed.

"I wonder what they'll pick," Harry said, before feeling a sudden sinking feeling. If Dumbledore was a "Grand Mugwump", what ridiculous title was he going to get?

He didn't have to wait long. The book started to update in front of his eyes.

_95 – Harry Potter. See page 486 for titles._

He flicked through, and read the entry. Then he read it again. And again.

"I don't believe it," he said, stunned. Hermione took the book and read it. Her eyebrows shot up. She looked up at him, and met his eyes.

She looked like she was struggling to laugh. She opened her mouth to speak. Her voice quivered with restrained mirth.

"All hail Dickhead Potter, Douchebag of Magic!"

And then she laughed.

* * *

The next day at breakfast, Hermione sat next to Harry. He'd made her promise not to tell anyone about his new title, but he was about to see just how futile that was.

The Daily Prophet arrived with the morning post, and it didn't take long before everyone exploded into loud discussing, looking and pointing at Harry. A few people – had Harry been paying more attention, he would have noticed them as the Muggleborns – were laughing.

"Pass that here," Harry said to Lavender. Blushing, she passed him the paper. The headline was something out of Harry's nightmares.

**HARRY POTTER: DOUCHEBAG**

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Last night, the Ministry of Magic was alerted to the registration of a wizard with the highest magical strength since records began. It should not surprise you, dear reader, to learn that this wizard was none other than Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. According to procedure, he was assigned a title by the Ministry. The Boy-Who-Lived is now to be known as Dickhead Potter, Douchebag of Magic. After consulting experts in the field, the Daily Prophet has learned that this may be shortened to "Harry Potter, Douchebag" or just "Dickhead". I managed to catch up with Joe Schadenfreude, the Ministry worker responsible for the title. In a candid interview, Schadenfreude revealed that..._

Harry looked around the hall. Everyone was whispering. He thought he even saw McGonagall covering a smile with her hand. He needed to leave.

"Come on," he said to Hermione, who looked like she was once again holding back laughter of her own. "Let's get out of here."

"Hey, Dickhead!" Malfoy called.

Harry ran.

* * *

After a few days, Hogwarts returned to normal – more or less. Hermione should have known that it wouldn't last.

She had just left Ancient runes when she saw him. Harry was walking – no, swaggering – through the hallway, flanked on one side by Ron, and the other side by Neville. They were all wearing some kind of red and gold jersey.

Unfortunately, Colin Creevy chose that moment to run up to Harry and take a photo. Harry grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him into the lockers lining the wall.

_Since when did Hogwarts have lockers?_ Hermione thought.

"Watch it, four-eyes!" Harry said. Ron and Neville laughed.

Hermione frowned.

"Harry!" she shouted, "what're you doing? And what _are_ you wearing?"

Harry grinned.

"Like them?" he said, rubbing a golden "G" stitched on to the breast. "New Quidditch Jerseys. The whole team has them."

"Okay, but why are you wearing it now? Harry, we've got Transfiguration in 5 minutes."

Harry just smiled, and started walking.

"Don't worry about it, babe. I've got this."

And then he slapped her on the arse.

Hermione stared at his back as he walked away, stunned.

"...what a douchebag."

It was Christmas. Hermione was getting worried about her best friend. His behaviour was becoming increasingly erratic. She was hoping the holidays would give him the chance to reflect and get over whatever phase he was in.

"Happy Christmas!" Harry said as he came through the door to her dorm. She had no idea how he had got up the stairs. He was carrying a box in front of him, about the size of a shoebox, covered in colourful wrapping paper. It had a lid.

"Happy Christmas, Harry! Is that for me?"

"You bet it is," Harry said with a smile. "Come over here and take off the lid."

Curious, she walked over. He gave her an encouraging smile. She took off the lid. It was only as she did so that she noticed that Harry was holding the box very close to himself.

It immediately became clear why.

It was Harry's dick – his throbbing, erect dick, in a box.

"It's my dick in a box!" he said.

Hermione fled.

* * *

After that, the Christmas holidays were something of a bust. Harry's transformation was almost complete. He truly was a douchebag. Hermione spent most of her time avoiding him, hiding in the Library – one of the few places he didn't go. The worst thing was that he seemed more popular than ever. Girls flocked to him, teachers turned a blind eye to his antics, and it looked like he was going to get a free ride to the Quidditch team of his choice.

But it wasn't until the first day back at school after the holidays that it completely sunk in that she had lost her friend.

She was walking back from Charms club when she noticed that the Fat Lady had been covered with a poster.

_Gryffindor Kegger_

_Clothes Optional_

_All Welcome_

_(Except Malfoy)_

Frowning, Hermione swung open the portrait door. She was suddenly hit with a wall of loud music and shouted conversation. In front of the door, Neville was levitating upside down in mid air, drinking beer through a tube. Everyone around him was chanting.

"Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug..."

And right there, at the centre of everything, was Harry. On one side his arm was draped over Parvati, on the other Romilda Vane. He was chanting the loudest of all.

"Hermione, babe!" he shouted, "Come on! We've got strippers!"

But Hermione was already on her way out.

* * *

Years passed. The war got ugly. Voldemort was winning.

Eventually, the Order of the Phoenix retreated to Hogwarts. The students had long since left. Voldemort waited outside the castle. There was no escape.

And then a messenger came, in the form of Draco Malfoy.

Standing before the head table – where Harry sat in Dumbledore's old chair – Draco read out Voldemort's message.

"To Harry Potter," he said, "I challenge you to a formal duel before Hogwarts' gate. The winner takes all. Decline this gracious offer and the castle shall fall."

Harry thought for a moment.

"Let's do this."

It was a bright morning when the fate of the wizarding world would be decided. Hermione looked on from the ramparts of Hogwarts, despairing – and planning her escape.

Harry stepped out of the castle, flanked by his lackeys. One of them had a magical megaphone.

"**All hail Dickhead Potter, Douchebag of Magic, the greatest wizard that ever lived. Tremble before his might. Lord Voldemort, know that you meet your death."**

Voldemort looked unimpressed. He walked calmly up the grassy knoll before Hogwarts, dressed in a simple black robe, with only Bellatrix Lestrange beside him.

He stopped when he was about twenty feet away from Harry.

He gave a mocking bow.

"Shall we?" he said.

"Hang on," said Harry, standing casually. He didn't even have his wand out. "You've got to have your title read first. Otherwise it's not a formal duel."

Voldemort froze. Hermione sat up in interest. After what had happened to Harry, she had tried to find Voldemort's level of magical strength and his rank. It wasn't to be found anywhere. It was as if he had eradicated all knowledge of it.

"Very well," Voldemort said stiffly. "Bellatrix?"

She cleared her throat, fanatical love in her eyes as she looked at her master.

"_Soronus!"_ she said.

"**ALL HAIL PIMPLEWART RIDDLE of SMALL-DICK, PROBABLY A MUDBLOOD TOO."**

Suddenly Voldemort's hatred of the magical world made a lot more sense.

_Fin._


End file.
